


2020 Vision (Hindsight is 20/20)

by heartsinger



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Apologies, Communication Issues, Death Threats, Episode Related, Feelings, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Coronavirus, Love, M/M, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Post-Episode S10E12 "Gallavich!", S05E12 "Love Songs (In The Key Of Gallagher)", Season/Series 05, Season/Series 10, Sex, Swearing, Trauma, unanswered questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinger/pseuds/heartsinger
Summary: Ian's mind from S05E12 "Love Songs (in the Key of Gallagher)" switches places with Ian's mind from sixty-six days post-S10E12 "Gallavich!". Feelings ensue.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	2020 Vision (Hindsight is 20/20)

**Author's Note:**

> I was mauled by a plot bunny from this Tumblr post: <https://cuendenan.tumblr.com/post/614317314875244544/redstalkingdeath-cuendenan>. I'm still salty about it.
> 
> Thanks to gostaks, redstalkingdeath from Tumblr, and Jaya and the rest of the Discord server crew for brainstorming, betaing, and general assistance with this fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

#### Mickey — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 8:00 AM

Mickey woke up the same way he's woken up on all the best mornings; secure in Ian's arms. He turned and kissed his husband—it had been sixty-six days and he still found every excuse in the world to use that word. "Good morning, husband," he said softly. "It's time to get up."

Ian opened his eyes slowly and smiled at Mickey. "I like this dream," he said.

Mickey frowned. "This isn't a dream, dumbass."

Ian smiled and kissed him. "You don't have to lie to me, dream-Mickey. I remember."

Mickey tensed. What the fuck did that mean? "What do you remember?"

"Let you go. Had to. Too broken. But this is nice."

Cold touched Mickey's heart. _'What the fuck? Wait, wait.'_ It was April Fool's Day, and honestly, fuck Ian for thinking this was funny. He laughed a laugh meant to indicate just how unamused he was. "Very funny. Come on, it's time to get up. You're supposed to be at work in an hour."

Ian's brow furrowed. "You aren't making sense, dream-Mickey."

"Ian, stop fucking with me right now, you asshole!" Mickey snapped, out of patience with this bullshit joke.

Ian's eyes, though, held no humor, just confusion. "I don't understand. If you're real, how are you here? I told you, I can't put you through this anymore! Why are we at home, in Frank's room of all places?"

Nausea bubbled in Mickey's stomach, dread overtaking him. He rolled and pressed Ian into the bed. "What fucking year is it?" he asked, voice shaking.

"It's 2015, Mick." There wasn't a single hint of deception in those beautiful, terrible eyes.

Mickey glared at him anyway. "Are you fucking with me?"

Ian just looked at him, confused. "What's going on?"

"Please, this isn't funny. Stop it," Mickey begged, eyes burning.

"What the fuck is happening?" Ian asked, sounding bewildered.

Mickey swallowed. He threw himself away from the bed and into the corner, curled up. This couldn't happen. It wasn't fucking _fair!_ But unfair things happened all the fucking time. Mickey didn't give up. It wasn't in him. Even after the shitshow that had been the end of the trip to the border, he'd told himself he could build something. Maybe not much, maybe not _happiness,_ certainly nothing like the rush that Ian could bring, but… contentment. He'd been mostly right. But then Ian needed him, and he found a way to be there.

And now, after everything, after the past _decade_ of misery and hurt and finally, finally just being _happy,_ Ian woke up one morning without a single memory of half those years. The man he'd kissed this morning wasn't his husband, he was the bastard who'd stomped his heart into the curb and done nothing about Sammi.

He'd forgiven his husband for that, but now, now all the growth Ian had done was gone. And Mickey just… couldn't. 

#### 2020!Ian — Wednesday, April 1st, 2015; 8:00 AM

Ian looked at Mickey turning away, his heart so clearly cracking to pieces, and fuck, he hated this nightmare. He could never move, and usually it felt deeply unreal. This time it felt realer than it had when it happened. And, he realized as Sammi stalked onto the scene, he could move.

He ran. By the time the awful bitch registered him past her focus on Mickey, Ian hit her hard in the stomach. She dropped the gun, and he kicked it away. "Stay the _fuck_ away from Mickey, you piece of shit!" he screamed, and then he pummeled her and started sobbing, emotions too big like they always were when he was off his meds. He vaguely registered Mickey nearby, picking up the gun.

He pulled Ian off Sammi. "Come on, she's not worth it."

Ian let Mickey pull him away, turned to him and said, "I'm sorry, Mick."

Mickey flinched. "Don't. Don't fucking play with me, you bastard."

Ian tried to think. He wanted to wake up having done better in the dream than he did in real life.

"I was an idiot. I let some bullshit about, about purity of mind or whatever, something about not wanting to make you take care of me, separate us for years. I'll regret that forever. I know now that you're never gonna stop trying to take care of me. I'm sorry it took such a stupid long time for me to understand."

Mickey stared at him. "Ian, you're making it sound like you broke up with me years ago. It's been about five fucking minutes. Fuck, come on." He hustled Ian into the house. Ian went willingly. This was such a weird dream.

Ian pinched himself, and it hurt, but he didn't wake. He frowned. What was going on?

The second they entered, Fiona was rushing to Ian, taking him into her arms. "Ian! We were so worried! Where have you been?"

"With Mom."

Fiona nodded, face pinched. "But you're home now."

"Yeah."

"Gonna take your meds?"

"Yeah."

The calendar on the fridge caught Ian's eye; it was legible. And it had occurred to him that this was a dream, which _never_ happened in dreams. Was he hallucinating? He closed his eyes, trying to wake up. As nice as it was to pretend he hadn't been a useless piece of shit this day, he wanted to feel his husband in his arms.

Nothing happened.

Mickey handed Ian a banana. "I'm gonna get your pills." Ian nodded, and Mickey went upstairs.

Ian ate the banana and threw the peel out. Then the door opened with a bang. Sammi.

#### 2015!Ian — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 8:00 AM

Ian stared at Mickey, confused. What kind of question was "what year is it?" Why was Mickey so upset? Ian had seen the man all kinds of miserable, but he looked like he'd given up. Mickey never gave up.

Ian could remember breaking up with Mickey, the heartbreak on his face, and then—nothing. He had no idea how he'd gotten here, no idea of anything after that moment. Had someone knocked him out? His head didn't hurt.

He sat up and looked at the near bedside table. The phone there was unfamiliar, but the standby screen had his email address on it, and the date was April 1, 2020. "What the fuck?"

Then Ian noticed his off hand. Specifically, the ring on it. He stared for a moment. Then he got up. Sure enough, a matching band was on Mickey's finger. "We're _married?"_ Ian asked incredulously. The only response forthcoming was a pained whimper. From sheer force of habit, Ian picked up the phone and tucked it into a pajamas pocket without noticing.

Ian knelt down in front of his—husband, apparently. He couldn't imagine how that could happen, even if it really had been _five years,_ but stranger things, he supposed.

"Mick, I'm sorry I don't remember," Ian ventured, putting his hands on Mickey's. Mickey shoved him away. Ian shouldn't even be encouraging this. Mickey should have figured out by now that he was too broken for this to ever really work.

So Ian went downstairs. A young man was in the kitchen, and a teenage boy sat in the eating room, playing with a toddler. After a moment, it registered that the teen was Liam and the young man was Carl. He wasn't sure about the girl.

"So it really is 2020," Ian said.

Carl raised a brow at him. "As unbelievable as we all find it that March managed to last, like, a million years, it's somehow still 2020, yes. May April be an improvement."

Ian wondered what the hell was going on. "No, I mean—I woke up and it wasn't 2015 anymore."

Carl stared at him. "Ian, this is the least funny April Fool's prank ever played in this house, and that counts the time I pretended to be dying."

"I'm serious!"

Carl looked at Ian for a long moment. Then he said, "Fuck. Liam, call the hospital. I'll go talk to Mickey."

"I don't need to be hospitalized!" Ian protested.

Carl shook his head. "You definitely have to call in sick," he said as he rushed up the stairs.

"I can work!"

"Not as an EMT, you can't. You've forgotten all your training, dumbass," Liam said.

"I'm an EMT?"

"Yeah. Lost it for a while, but you're stable on your meds and you managed to convince some soft touch at a different hospital to give you a second chance. One sec." Liam held his own smartphone up to his ear. "Hey, Betty, this is Ian Gallagher's brother. I'm sorry to tell you, but he's sick. Can't come in. No, not respiratory. No cough, no fever, nothing like that. Yes, I swear. If he gets any of the symptoms, we'll call, cross my heart and hope to die. Thanks, Betty. I'm not sure. We'll keep you updated." Liam tapped off the phone.

Carl returned and handed Ian his pills and a glass of water with a frown. Ian took them one at a time. "Normally, I'd say we gotta take you to Urgent Care or some shit, this could be a fucking brain tumor or something. But we really shouldn't be leaving the house unless we absolutely fucking have to, and it might be some bipolar bullshit. I'll drive you if you're still fucked up in the morning. And I'm going to get one of those telemedicine appointments your doctor started offering scheduled."

"I don't need to go to the hospital," Ian grumbled. "Also, what the fuck is going on? Why is everyone so worried about leaving the house?"

"Ian, please. You can't deny that we look older than we should, right? That's pretty weird."

Ian didn't want to, but they could fight about it in the morning. "Fine, whatever."

#### Mickey — Wednesday, April 1st, 2015; 8:00 AM

_'Fuck, Sammi!'_ Mickey thought, and pelted the rest of the way down the stairs, stuffing Ian's meds into a pocket as he went. Mickey grabbed the gun he picked up after Ian got it away from her from the back of his waistband. Mickey tried to get her in his sights, but Ian was in the fucking way, the angles were wrong. He wasn't a good enough shot, not even at this range. Not with Ian's life on the line if he missed.

"Go ahead. Kill me. I'm sure the judge will love that story. Murdered your own brother with three witnesses? Good fucking luck getting parole."

Mickey's stomach jumped into his throat. _'Ian, fucking don't, don't don't don't.'_

Instead of the slick-stuck sound of a knife sliding into flesh, though, he heard Sammi say, voice shaking, "You're fucking crazy."

"If you'd understood that earlier, we could have avoided this unpleasantness." Mickey could hear a smile in Ian's voice, and it made him even angrier.

There was the sound of metal dropping to the ground, and someone running away. "And stay the fuck away, you bitch!" Ian shouted, slamming the door.

Mickey set the gun down, and went over and spun Ian around roughly, grabbing his shirt and looking for injuries. He found none. "What the fuck was that, Ian? What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK‽"

Ian shrugged. "It worked. Scared the shit outta her."

"Fuck that bitch, you scared the shit outta _me,_ you bastard!" Mickey had Ian pushed up against the wall. When did that happen? "You could have _died!"_

Ian shrugged. "Didn't. And maybe you'll be safe now."

"I'll be safe? The fuck you talking about, I'll be safe? The fuck you think I care about that if you're dead, you selfish bastard?"

"She might not snitch now."

"What are you _talking_ about‽"

"The whole thing where you crated her up."

"How do you even know about that?"

Ian smiled mysteriously. "I got my ways."

Mickey was sorely tempted to punch that smile off his stupid (ex?) boyfriend's stupid face.

"Sometimes I wish I could hate you," Mickey whispered. "And I never fucking can."

"I know, Mick, I'm sorry. For scaring you, for trying to break up with you, for being such a dick about Svetlana and about coming out and everything."

"That's a lotta fucking apologies." Mickey wanted to just divert this whole conversation into sex, the language they'd always been able to communicate in, but he was so fucking tired. It was maybe eight in the morning, and he felt like he hadn't slept in a week.

"I mean it, Mickey."

"You always do. I know you're sick."

"That doesn't mean it hurts you less."

"I'm not going anywhere, Ian."

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey. "I told you, I know that now. And I love you too."

Mickey's breath caught. He found himself pressing his face into Ian's neck, smelling him. "Fuck you, man," he said, voice thick. He'd told himself it didn't matter that Ian hadn't said it back, that he could see it in Ian's smile, in the way he held Mickey, the way he chased him. But especially lately, it's hard to believe. And finally, Ian said it. Of course it had to be right after he ripped Mickey's heart out and scared him to death.

He could hear the smile in Ian's voice when he said, "Come on, let's lie down."

Mickey, as always, followed him. "Don't you fucking dare go anywhere. I don't care if it's just to the fucking bathroom, you wake me up if I'm asleep. Don't fucking disappear."

"I won't."

"Stop a second." Mickey got Ian a glass of water and handed over his pills, carefully double checking that he had them all right. Ian smiled at him and took them all in a single gulp of water, then drank the rest of the glass and put it aside to be washed.

When they got upstairs, Mickey pushed Ian into the bed and lay on top of him—he wasn't taking any chances, and Ian could take it. He didn't say anything, and Mickey looked closely at his face for any signs of pain. He found none.

For a while, they laid there, arms wrapped around each other.

"I missed you, you fucker."

"I missed you too," Ian said.

And Mickey believed him. "Then why didn't you _come home?"_ Mickey's voice broke, and he hated it, hated how Ian always broke him open.

"Because I'm sick. Because I'm scared. Because Monica got inside my fucking head. But I should have done better, should have listened to you sooner, should have stayed on my fucking meds."

Mickey wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream at Ian, to hit him, even, but how could he when the bastard sounded so fucking upset? It was _infuriating._ If he couldn't be angry, Mickey wanted to just make everything be okay again, to focus on the good parts, but he ran his hands over Ian's bruised knuckles and couldn't let it go. And couldn't say anything, either.

So he started a fight. "Promise me you'll never try to get yourself killed for me again."

He knew perfectly well Ian would never make such a promise, but it was something to be angry about that wasn't all mixed up in Monica and bipolar and all that shit.

"I can't promise you that."

"Fuck you! I don't want that. I need you to be alright, you moron."

Ian, with his stupid big arms and stupid height, rolled them over so he was on top, lying most of his weight on Mickey. "Oh, and would you promise me the same? Do you think I'd ever be okay again if you went and fucking died on me? Because I wouldn't be!"

"How can you think _I'd_ be okay‽" Mickey retorted. "Of course I wouldn't be okay!"

"How can _you_ think I'd do any better than you?" Ian said.

"Hey, assface, you're the one trying to get rid of me!"

Ian choked and looked away, and Mickey could tell he was tearing up. Ian drew in a huge breath and let it out slow. "I know. And all the excuses—or even reasons—in the world can't change it. I thought I could save you from having to take care of me."

Mickey's fists clenched and he rolled them back over so he was lying on Ian again. "Why can't you fucking accept that I _want_to take care of you‽"

"I realize that now."

"When‽ What the fuck changed?"

Ian took a second to respond. "I… that look on your face. It brought things into focus."

Mickey frowned at Ian. He had no idea what the hell else could have happened in the 0.2 seconds in which Ian had changed his tune, but he sounded like he was lying.

Mickey sighed and thought, _'At least he isn't running away anymore.'_ Part of him wanted to try and make some kind of thing of it, insist on staying broken up for a while, make Ian _hurt._ But what would be the fucking point? Sooner or later, Mickey would give in whether anything was better or not.

"You're gonna stay? Gonna take your meds?"

"Yeah. And I'm gonna try to be the person you deserve. You deserve so much better than I've given you, Mick."

Mickey blushed. "Shut the fuck up."

Ian paused, then kissed him. Mickey returned it. There was something undefinably different about the way Ian kissed. Somehow more desperate and more confident, all at once. It was still Ian, though, and once they got their shirts off, Mickey was quickly distracted by the marks on him, marks that weren't Mickey's, which made him crazy. He knew Ian could see what he was thinking, and saw the apology on his tongue. "Fucking don't." Mickey didn't want any more goddamn words right now. Instead, he locked Ian's hands in his and pushed them into the bed, holding him down. Sucked more hickeys into his skin. Ian whined at him, shuddered, wanted to touch. He could fucking wait.

"Mick, please, please, need you, fuck, kiss me, please," Ian babbled.

Mickey sucked a nipple into his mouth, making Ian gasp and moan and beg. It took a while to cover all the marks he could get to while holding Ian down. By the time he was done, Ian was a mess, sweaty and needy, still begging to be kissed. Mickey knew he still felt insecure because otherwise he'd be begging Mickey to ride him instead, and it frustrated Mickey. How could Ian not know that Mickey was all fucking in?

He sucked two more marks into Ian's skin at the base of his neck, and then looked at him, considering. There was still Mickey's inner asshole urging him to make Ian wait, or maybe just wait for kisses. But the truth was, Mickey wanted that reassurance too. Because of his reluctance to do it for so long, Mickey kind of made kissing a thing for them. So he brought his lips down on Ian's, biting, domineering even.

Ian gasped into the kiss and went still. He was responsive, but let Mickey keep control. Both of them had their eyes open, and Mickey realized Ian was crying a little. He broke the kiss and tried to let go of Ian's hands, but Ian wouldn't let go. 

"Ian? What's wrong?"

Ian shook his head. "I just fucking missed you, you vampire."

Mickey looked at him. He did seem to be okay. Mickey felt like he was hiding something, but Ian was clearly raring for more, so he let it go. "Guess you'll just have to fucking stick around, dickhead."

Ian smiled at him. "Guess I will."

Mickey kissed Ian a little more, and then really did let go of his hands so they could get the rest of their fucking clothes off. He let Ian surround him, fill him up, fuck him until there wasn't a single thought left in his brain, then hold him, then fuck him again. It was good, so good, but he made sure to fall asleep right on top of Ian, just in case the fucker got any bright ideas about "not disturbing him" when he went to the bathroom. That was the only thing he was worried about.

#### Mickey — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 8:15 AM

Carl was trying to talk to Mickey. "Come on, man. Snap out of it." Mickey couldn't. He didn't even want to. What he wanted was for this to be a dream, so he could wake up in a world where his Ian was still here. Failing that, he wanted to dream that his Ian was still here and never fucking wake up.

He'd tried pinching and scratching himself until he bled, and this still seemed to be happening. He could read. Signs pointed to this hellscape actually being real.

He'd gone and let himself actually be happy, and of course this was the result. Nothing good could stay. Mickey hugged his knees and ignored Carl.

Carl sighed and tugged Mickey up. Mickey couldn't even find it in himself to resist. The kid half-dragged him into Franny and Debbie's room and laid him on the bed. Once Mickey was situated, Carl turned his arms over, exposing the scratches and bruises. "Mickey, what the fuck?"

"Wanted to be dreaming," Mickey said. Apparently, he did care about something: he didn't want some stupid fuss.

"Alright. I think you've pretty thoroughly proven you're not dreaming. No more of this! Promise me!"

"Kay," Mickey said.

Carl sighed. "I'll get you some water and some breakfast. We'll figure this out. 2020 Ian has to be in there somewhere."

Mickey couldn't decide if he wished he had the kid's optimism or not. On the one hand, less pain now. On the other, more pain later. Well, pain was pain, so what did it matter?

Mickey managed to find a couple words. "Don't let him come in. Can't… please."

"Alright, I'll make sure 2015 Ian stays out. I promise," Carl said, and left.

Mickey curled up on the bed and found himself crying now that he was in a room where Past Ian wouldn't be. He couldn't bear the idea of that guy seeing him like this. This was mere months before the guy who only came to visit Mickey because Svet _paid_ him. That still squeezed Mickey's heart to think about, even after everything.

Mickey remembered the look on Ian's face when he said his vows, and screamed into Debbie's pillow. His chest felt cracked open, and he felt so helpless. He could do something about bipolar, he could do something about stupid insecurities, he could do something about Ian's worries about carrying that awful virus home—admittedly blowing Ian until he forgot was a large part of the treatment program, but lots of handwashing and showering was also involved. The fuck could he do about five years just disappearing from Ian's brain?

How the fuck had that even happened? Would he wake up tomorrow with another five gone? _'That Ian at least wanted me,'_ Mickey thought darkly, but that Ian was still not his fucking husband. And Ian wasn't so old. If he lost five years every day, he'd be a drooling idiot by the end of the week.

#### 2015!Ian — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 8:30 AM

"Have you taken your meds?" Dreamworld Carl asked abruptly as he came back downstairs.

Ian scowled. "No. I don't—"

"No, Ian. Fucking no. You aren't doing that to us again. You aren't doing this to _Mickey_ again. I don't care that you think it's 2015. I swear to God if I have to tie you up and pour them down your throat, I will!"

Ian stared at Dreamworld Carl. He'd heard Carl angry before, but this was something new. And since when did Carl give that much of a shit about Mick? After a moment he said reluctantly, "Okay."

Dreamworld Carl nodded, turned off the stove, and said, "Breakfast!" Then he filled a plate and a glass of water. "Back down with your meds in a sec. And stay the fuck out of Debbie's room."

Ian, bored, found himself turning on the screen on his other self's phone. He gasped at the lockscreen background. It was a picture of Dreamworld Mickey, staring at someone out of frame with open adoration and absolute joy. Hands cupped his face, and Ian was absolutely certain those hands belonged to the Ian that lived in this crazy dreamworld.

Ian teared up. He'd wanted to put that look on Mickey's face for _so long._ It was hard to believe it had happened. But how could this Ian let Mickey take the risk that he'd have to take care of Ian again, that he'd break again? He almost felt angry at Dreamworld Ian for doing that.

#### Mickey — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 6:30 PM

Mickey woke alone. Ian must have an early shift. He blinked his eyes open to the sight of Debbie's room. Fuck. Fuck, it hadn't been a dream. Mickey blinked away tears.

Mickey couldn't spend another minute in bed. Well, he _could,_ but he felt like he'd crawl out of his skin if he didn't move. So he rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom. He looked awful, and he didn't expect that to change. But he could shave, at least. So he did. He showered. He didn't put on fresh clothes, because he wasn't going into the bedroom he shared with his Ian.

He put the old ones back on and headed downstairs. Carl was cooking dinner.

"You got out of bed!" he said, sounding relieved.

Mickey immediately felt guilty. He knew how scary it was for someone to stay in bed all day in this house. "Couldn't lie around forever."

Carl nodded. He poured a glass of water and handed it to Mickey, who sat down at the eating table and started drinking it.

Before long, Ian came downstairs, and they both watched him hopefully. Ian noticed, and shook his head. "I'm still either having the most thorough hallucination ever, or the most inexplicable loss of memory ever."

Mickey tried not to let his expression fall. It was what he'd expected. He watched Past Ian take a glass of water from Carl and step toward the table, then look at Mickey and go for the couch instead. Mickey knew that face. He knew Ian was doing his self-sacrificing bullshit, still.

Mickey found himself storming out onto the porch, then into the yard. He started running around the house in pointless fucking circles, and wished hard that he could go literally anywhere.

#### 2015!Ian — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 6:30 PM

Ian watched Mickey leave, heart hurting, and told himself it was for the best.

Carl looked at him sadly. "He'll come back. He always comes back to you. It's just… You made a real ass of yourself for a while there, and he's scared. But he'd put himself through that again, for you." Carl scowled. "You better not let that happen."

Part of Ian was touched that Carl cared so much about Mickey. "Aren't you _my_ brother? Shouldn't you be warning Mickey about treating me right?"

Carl shrugged. "He fucks up way less than you. And he's a good brother-in-law."

Ian powered his phone on again, and looked at the picture of Mickey. It was beautiful. It cracked his resolve to drive Mickey off.

#### Mickey — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 6:45 PM

Mickey slowed to a walk and tried to think. Past Ian didn't want him, of course, but… what to do. Mickey brought up a hand to scratch his itchy face, stopped because _' "no touching your face, Mick, I know it's hard, but I don't want you to get sick, asshole." '_ The memory made his eyes burn. He caught sight of his wedding ring.

_' "In sickness and in health…" '_ Those words had been easy to say, because Mickey already knew he wasn't going anywhere. So he hadn't anticipated what that meant. That was what marriage was supposed to be for, wasn't it? Promising—swearing—that you'd be there, no matter what. Even when "what" turned out to be bullshit memory loss. Past Ian was still the guy that became his Ian. It could happen again. Maybe with a little less pain this time.

Maybe Past Ian would leave him, but Mickey had time. Neither of them was going anywhere. He couldn't decide if the stay-at-home order was going to make things better or worse, but it did mean Past Ian would have trouble fucking off.

So Mickey marched back into the house, determined. This hurt, but so did a lot of things. Mickey could handle it.

#### 2015!Ian — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 6:45 PM

Ian was eating dinner with everyone else when Dreamworld Mickey came back in. He sat down next to Ian and served himself. He didn't touch Ian, though Ian kind of wished he would. They ate silently. When they were done, Liam and Franny fucked off upstairs and Carl went into the living room with a glare at Ian.

Ian picked his phone up and powered the screen on again. "This picture… it's our wedding, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, looking away, and Ian suspected there were tears in his eyes.

"How? How can you love me like this, Mick? After the things I said today—five years ago, whatever—after everything I put you through, fucking off when I shouldn't have, all of that. How can you not give up on me?"

"That's what you don't get, Gallagher, what you just started to fucking believe before this: I love you. It doesn't fucking matter what you do. It never has. I don't know what the fuck it would take to make me give up on you. I'm not sure it even exists. How I feel about you isn't some kind of, of reward you earned or some shit. It just is. My heart's in your hands, fuckhead. Has been since I was seven-fucking-teen. That doesn't change, and I tried. I tried so hard not to love you. But you're under my skin. And I know I'm under yours. So please," Mickey's voice cracked, _"Don't skip out on me this time."_

Ian reached out and pulled Mickey's face so he could see Mickey's eyes. He looked—Ian wanted to say broken, but that wasn't quite right—cracked open, an actual tear running down his cheek, and Ian hated himself a little bit for putting that look on his face. He brought Mickey closer and softly kissed the tear off his cheek, then said softly, "Alright, Mickey. I'll stay."

Mickey's tremulous smile was a thing to behold, and after a moment Ian snaked a hand onto the back of Mickey's head and kissed him, deep and sweet. Mickey, as assertive as ever, pulled up on Ian's arms and yanked him closer once they were standing up. Ian knew what he wanted: for Ian to take him to bed. So Ian did. He pulled Mickey even closer, stepping back and turning them onto the stairs. They almost tripped twice, they were so wrapped up in each other. Ian almost turned toward the room he used to share with his brothers before Mickey jerked him in the proper direction.

Ian pushed Mickey back onto the bed and straddled him, pushing closer, closer, kissing Mickey like it was more essential than air. It took a minute for him to notice something was off, but he stopped his kisses and looked at Mickey, whose face was too blank, his breath catching on suppressed sobs.

Ian felt worry creep into his heart. "Mick? What's wrong?"

Mickey smiled at him and tried to lean up and press their lips together, but Ian dodged, frowning at him. "Mickey, come on."

"It's dumb, don't worry about it."

Ian glared. "Hey. That's my husband you're talking about." And he smiled, because how was he this lucky, even in a dream?

"I guess… I guess… you told me you were trying to protect me from having to take care of me, that you always wanted me, and mostly I believed it. Sounds like the kind of stupid thing your dumb ass would do, but I guess part of me didn't believe it. Now you're here, and it's true. Like I said, stupid. Now get on me, you slow motherfucker!"

Ian smiled at Mickey and started pulling his shirt off. Mickey pulled Ian's up, and they kissed until they had to break it to get the shirts off, then scrambled for each others' pants. When they were finally skin against skin, Mickey grabbed the lube and started prepping himself while Ian sucked hickeys into his collarbone.

Mickey finished getting ready and got into position under Ian. They usually didn't fuck face-to-face, but Ian was glad they were this time. Something about the sex felt different. Mickey had somehow managed to get even better at taking it, which Ian would have sworn was impossible.

When they were done, Mickey rolled them around so he was lying half on top of Ian and said, "Stay," then promptly fell asleep.

Ian grumbled at him. "Not a dog." But he was too sleepy and sated to really be mad. He fell asleep too.

#### 2015!Ian — Wednesday, April 1st, 2015; 8:00 PM

Ian woke up to Mickey lying even more on top of him than he had been before. He made a grumbly noise, then looked at the room. This wasn't the room they shared in 2020. It was the room Ian shared with his brothers in 2015 before he left. And… as he thought about it, vague memories of the past day slotted in, hitting Sammi, apologizing to Mickey, daring Sammi to kill him, finally finding the words to tell Mickey he loved him.

Ian wondered if the weird 2020 interlude was real or not. Strange fucking dream. Being an EMT might be cool. There was no reason to believe there was anything more to it.

Instead, Ian pressed his lips to Mickey's. Mickey opened his eyes. "I had a really weird dream. It was 2020, and we were married, and I lost my memory and thought it was 2015 again, and also there was a pandemic."

Mickey poked him. "If that's a proposal, it needs some fucking work. Thought you didn't wanna get married, anyway."

Ian shrugged. "I don't know. You're the one who said it's just a fucking piece of paper."

Mickey made a discontented noise. "With Svet, it was. With you… maybe it could be something different."

"Yeah?"

Mickey kissed him. "Yeah. Now fucking get on me, you were gone too fucking long." Ian opened his mouth, but Mickey put a finger over it. "Nope, no apologizing. Fucking."

Ian rolled them over and whispered in Mickey's ear, "I love you."

"I fucking love you too, now shut up and fuck me."

Ian laughed and grabbed the lube. "Yes, dear."

Mickey elbowed him. "Don't fucking 'yes, dear' me."

"Yes, dear," Ian said as he slid a finger into Mickey, making him gasp. "Don't mind it so much now, now do you?"

"Cheater," Mickey accused.

Ian gasped in mock offense. "Clearly I'm gonna have to shut you up," he whispered, redoubling his efforts.

Mickey gasped, "Only one way to do that, assface."

"Don't front, you love my face," Ian said as he slid into Mickey. He fucked him long and sweet, got Mickey so impatient he flipped them over and took control, which suited Ian just fine.

When they were done, Mickey curled into Ian's arms and Ian kissed the back of his neck softly. "So good. So fucking good for me, Mick." Mickey trembled a little at the words, and Ian pulled him closer. In a little while, they'd get up and shower together, maybe blow each other, too, and figure out what the hell to do about Sammi. Ian would take his evening meds. But for now they lay together sharing the afterglow.

#### 2020!Ian — Wednesday, April 1st, 2020; 8:00 PM

Ian did his best to stretch with his lump of a husband—husband-to-be? Whatever—lying on top of him. When he noticed the room, he realized it was their room. Their room as it existed in 2020. He grinned. He considered the last day, and realized he could remember vaguely—more like it was years ago than yesterday—not remembering anything. His eyes filled with tears at the memory of how _broken_ Mickey was by Ian losing that time, and he couldn't quite breathe at the strength of Mickey coming inside and declaring his love for Ian all over again. He reached up and pulled Mickey's face to his, kissing him awake.

"Hello," Ian said, grinning. "I remember everything, and I love you so much, you self-sacrificing motherfucker."

Mickey blinked sleepily at him. "You remember? Everything?"

"Mexico, Gay Jesus, jail, marrying your pale ass, everything."

Mickey looked so fucking relieved. "Thank fuck. I was…"

Ian squeezed his arms around Mickey. "I know. You're so fucking strong, Mick." He kissed Mickey, and Mickey returned it.

"I wasn't though. I freaked out." Mickey said when they broke apart to breathe.

Ian pulled away a little so Mickey could see his unimpressed expression. "You pulled through it. You were ready to deal with the asshole I was five years ago all over again."

Mickey smiled sadly. "I fucking love you, moron, what the fuck else was I gonna do?"

Ian's eyes burned a little. "I love you too. I'm sorry I took such a stupid long time to say it."

Mickey shoved him playfully. "Shut up, Gallagher. And don't think remembering shit is getting you out of talking to Dr. Paget. This shit ain't normal."

"No, definitely, they'll want to check everything over."

Mickey nodded his satisfaction. "Alright, enough yapping." And then he pushed Ian around until he was just where Mickey wanted him and sank down onto him. 

Mickey was so fucking lovely like this, and Ian reached a hand up and stroked his hair. "Mick, _fuck,"_ Ian said, starting to babble, overwhelmed. Mickey smirked at him and slowed down, clearly determined to make this last.

And he did make it last. Despite how much muscle he packed onto his legs, they shook a little as he got off Ian and let Ian curl around him. They were together. Everything else could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to spend hours determining the least incorrect date (y'all know the _Shameless_ timeline is a mess) for "Love Songs (in the Key of Gallagher)" to take place, so I decided to set it on April 1st, 2015, which is convenient and close to the airdate. For 2020!Ian & 2020!Mickey's wedding day, I simply used the airdate of "Gallavich!".
> 
> This story assumes branching timelines, so 2015!Ian and 2015!Mickey will have their own life. I have no current plans to detail it
> 
> No, I don't know how this happened. Presumably magic of some kind. Don't ask me, I'm just the writer.
> 
> _Home,_ the long version of my story "One Shot" remains in progress, people interested in betaing please let me know, I always need more readers.
> 
> The line "If you'd understood that earlier, we could have avoided this unpleasantness" is quoted from Tamora Pierce's _The Will of the Empress,_ one of my favorite books, because I couldn't quite envision anything else for the line.
> 
> Reviews and kudos are never required, but always appreciated.


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